Falling for the jungle boy

Chapter 8

The first sense that came back to me was taste. There was a void of nothingness in my mouth the bleak and stale taste of dry saliva burned on my tastebuds as it managed to travel into my throat where the evil acidic feeling tore at the walls of my oesophegus.

Next came touch. It wasn't just feeling or yerning for a particular sensation, but rather one that you could understand you were not the only disembodied thing there. I could feel the wind dancing gracefully against my invisible golden hairs of my arms and legs. It was a calming feel, one where you would melt and drift off into a deep, succumbing and sparesely populated brainless void .

Then there was sound. Voices, and many of them at least, different accents and tones of voice. A whole village of sound.

My arms were drawn behind my head rather forcefully and the lingering scent of rosemary and lavender made my senses go into overdive. It was just too much, the small so bitter so strong, it was forcing me awake testing me away from my slumber. My lungs were consumed by the stifling irritation.

I pushed my arms to try and get up and swat the annoyance away, but my hands were firmly tied around a splintered wooden stake. I screamed in raw agony. The blood pounding over and over again, distinctly in my head. My eyes shot open and as soon as I was introduced to the splitting sun, it was strong enough to burn holes into my eyelids.

"Please. Make it stop." My voice was raspy and throaty. And my voice box was clouded over. I reached out only to come in contact with a glassy substance. The bitter cold of the pane dealing into my skin causing the blood flow to slow and admire the chilly atmosphere. Around me there was another wave of cold air.

I felt another hand cradel my head, this one bigger and more masculine, the second hand slipped to the crook where my knees bent. I was airborne in a few second flat, i could feel the cold rushing into my veins a I cuddled into the chest that flexed as my body was being carried.

***

"I know who killed him." My eyes were only starting to open and shapes were slowly beginning to focus. I was perched on a flat slab-like rock. A hollowed out tree provided the perfect backrest, it was slanted ever so slightly so that i wasnt sitting rigidly upright in my seat. The edges were smoothed down so that the various splinters were held back.

I looked down onto the ground and the ashes of a previously grand campfire were smoking away, a tiny flame emerging from the dust white confines.  The jungle boy was stirring the ashes with the end of a long stick, the wisps of powder fluttered in the wind creating a sprial toward the heavens whilst streaks of sunlight invaded the close knit tree canopy and filled the area with a mystical pressence.

The boy's hair was ruffled and mussed , almost as if he had run his fingers through his locks far too often.

"What did you say?" A strange whisper came out of my usually dry mouth.

"The man in your camp. I know who killed him."

Something in my brain clicked. .. "How can I even start to believe you if I have no idea who you are. If you really think I'm staying here, after the knife to my throat incident you must be delusional." He had backed me into a wall of some natural sort and gingerly lifted my neck. Fully aware he could snap it in two I obliged almost willingly.

His finger was warm and rough as it pushed against my throat. "Not even a mark." He sounded satisfied with his skill as my jaw clenched.

"Give me one reason I should kick you where it hurts... just like last time"

"Because Claire, there are people in this jungle that want you dead , i have spoken to the mothera that have you herbs to cure your unconsiousness and stitched up your torn arm with the termite heads. Without them, you probably wouldn't be alive."

"I-but-um- how do you know my name?" The rest of his monolouge hadn't registered  yet, only the fact that he knew who I was before I properly introduced myself.

He chuckled and tapped the side of his head. Giving off a discrete wink before i laugnched into my next line of enquiry.

"If you know my name it's only fair I know yours." I found my hands on my waist, butt cocked to the side as I shifted the weight onto one foot and tried to stare him down.

Why did he know so much?

"Hey!" He threw his palms into the air in mock surrender, "you talk in your sleep," he tried to smile shyly. His boyish looks were cute and innocent.

"I-um-what?" I felt astounded. Before I could even begin to explain anything an apple was tossed my way.

"I found it in your backpack, they'll get old if you don't up soon." I was grateful for the welcome distraction. Taking a bite of the green-red fruit I smiled.

Apple-pip-spitting contest.

4 words.

They meant so much....

"What's an apple pip spitting contest?"

"It was a little competition I used to have with my mum and dad." I got up and pulled another apple from my bag and tossed it at the boy whos nane i shall figure out later on. "When we would go on picnics we would have a target and try and spit the seeds onto the plate bullseye. We would do that with apples if it wasn't watermelon season."

I smiled as the recollection of a normal, happy family was roused in my mind. One of my best memories, and even then, it was barely anything to go by. Apples had always been my favourite fruit... and I felt like a crime to eat them without my parents by my side but their memories were forever here. Deep inside my living being.

Before I could stop it a tear fell from my eyelid and danced down onto my chin. It hung there before quickly dropping to the ground, as if it had over-stayed it's welcome.

I looked around, the boy watching me quietly. Perhaps... I had over-stayed mine...

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Hi! All.

1) Your thoughts on this chapter.

2) What do you think is the 'mothera'?

3) Apple-pip-spitting contest?

Thank you as always for reading. You are all truely amazing. So thanks.

So yaaaaah. Like usual, vote comment share etc.

-Lg